


pass me by before i fall for you

by maerzkindt



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, Drinking, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Character Death, Unrequited Love, cue elton john singing "it's sad (so sad) so sad... it's a sad sad situatiooon", having a crush but not acting on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 07:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maerzkindt/pseuds/maerzkindt
Summary: His connection to Burr is a string made ofalmost there’s andwhat could be’s. He desperately wants to wind that string around his hand and pull Burr closer until there’s not an inch left between them. Another time he wants to sever the thread, cut it so it can’t tie him down anymore, and run.He never does either.(Aaron Burr, campaign manager of presidential candidate Thomas Jefferson, meets speech writer James Madison.)





	pass me by before i fall for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flavus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flavus/gifts).



When the words make his heart go faster for the first time, Burr blames it on Jefferson.  
The speech is amazing- the crowd goes from stunned silence to aggressive euphoria in just a moment’s notice- but it mostly seems to come from Jefferson’s rhetorical talent. The man is a human supernova. Already a star, he still outdoes himself in every public appearance he makes. During most of a speech he builds up tension, slowly but inevitably like it’s a natural process. Then he explodes.  
Not in the literal sense of course, but some of the people that leave the convention centers and stadiums where he holds his rallies do look like he did- wide-eyed, pale-faced, shaken to the core. Jefferson talks like he knows the secrets of the universe- and for a long time Burr doesn’t realise that while his voice and gestures may be the vessel in which he takes the listeners on his journey through space, the things he shows them aren’t actually his. Someone else has already built the galaxies and solar systems, the new worlds Jefferson explores in his speeches.

 

“Let me introduce you- James, this is Aaron Burr, my campaign manager.”

Jefferson gives him a jovial pat on the back while grinning at the man standing in front of them- sturdy figure, dark square-ish face, outfit in muted colors without any accessoires except for the classy-looking scarf around his neck.

“Burr- James Madison, an old friend and newly-appointed speech writer of mine,” Jefferson says with a grand gesture in Madison’s direction. The other man doesn’t seem impressed. He makes a move to take Burr’s outstretched hand, then pulls back when he’s seized by a sudden rather violent coughing fit. Jefferson laughs and gives him a pat as well.

“There, there. Your fragile health never stops worrying me, my friend,” he says. “But I guess I am lucky- competition from you would be a real danger to the success of my campaign, but you’re just too busy being sick to hold those speeches yourself!”

Burr holds back the agreeable laugh that’s his usual response to comments from Jefferson like this one. He normally doesn’t care very much when people think of him as eager to please his boss, an opportunist even. He has been called one, and by a friend- but now he doesn’t want this man named Madison to think of him in any negative way.

#

Thomas eventually leaves them alone, stalking off to greet other friends and sponsors (those categories often seem to overlap in miraculous ways). Madison stays with Burr who seems just as comfortable in the corner of the room as he is. They talk all the way through the evening- a delight for Madison because it means he doesn’t have to socialize with anyone else (Thomas’ other guests aren’t really his type), but also because socializing with this Aaron Burr in particular is actually enjoyable. Although they discuss several political issues he isn’t able to pinpoint Burr’s opinion on even one of them. Burr provides equally strong arguments for both sides and never loses his temper when Madison counters them. That’s how he gets most people to reveal their personal leanings, but Burr doesn’t seem to fit their category.

Madison finds it- _him_ \- quite intriguing. When looking at himself in relation to Thomas, he can find truth in the saying that opposites attract each other; but he and Burr rather seem to be birds of a feather.  
What a horribly old-fashioned expression. He would never use that when writing. Or would he?  
-Maybe, if he knew the target audience to be on the elderly side.

“What are you thinking, Mr Madison?”

Burr is regarding him over the rim of his glass, a smile playing on his lips. His lips actually look very beautiful, Madison thinks and lets his gaze linger on them for a moment. When he realizes he still hasn’t answered Burr’s question the pause has become uncomfortably long.  
Blood rushes to his face as he stutters something indistinguishable, but Burr just laughs mildly. His eyes are sparkling like the champagne Madison has had too much of- alcohol seems to transform him into someone unable to form a coherent sentence but still capable of making up ridiculous comparisons like that. And yet it doesn’t feel ridiculous to see sparks in Burr’s eyes and to hear a somehow familiar melody in his smooth, pleasant voice.

Madison swallows hard.

“I’m thinking about-“ he says and as the words leave his mouth he isn’t sure which other words might follow them.  
_I’m thinking about how attracted I am to you._  
_I’m thinking about asking you out right now before the alcohol wears off and I lose the courage again._

He never gets to find out- he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder from behind and then Thomas gently turns him away from Burr to introduce him to another friend. He gradually wanders away from Burr as his attempts to exit the conversation fail again and again. When he finally succeeds and heads back to their previous spot half across the room, the other man is already deeply in discussion with someone else.

#

Burr gets home even later than usual. He stayed longer looking for Madison, but it seems he must have left shortly after their conversation got interrupted.  
What a shame, he thinks. He would still like to know what Madison was going to say, what he was thinking about.  
But then it doesn’t really matter.  
He sighs contentedly as he pours himself a glass of water and goes to sit on the couch facing the garden window. The bushes and the fence cut a sharp silhouette in the moonlight; the world is silent.  
Not quite- he suddenly hears the light pattering of feet down the hall, coming closer before stopping abruptly.

“Dad?”

He turns and sees another shadow in the doorway, a familiar shape.

“Why are you still up?” he whispers as Theodosia comes closer, her face still in the dark. “Where is Rose?”  
“She’s sleeping,” his daughter answers. “She put me to bed but I woke up again and heard you come in.” She rounds the sofa, settles down next to him and he puts an arm around her shoulders.

“Bad dreams?”

“No”, she says but still inches closer until she can lay her head in his lap. He runs a hand over her hair and tugs on some of the curls while his mind wanders back to the party.

It was nice to meet Madison- felt like finding a kindred spirit in the huge pool of obnoxious people he has to deal with every day, his boss included. Maybe he’ll get the chance to see him again at some other event where they both feel out of place, though Madison is worse than he at showing that. But then the guy isn’t a campaign manager. It’s practically Burr’s job to smile a lot at everyone to make them stop asking unwelcome questions about Jefferson’s campaign goals or his private affairs.

He may just be a future president’s lackey now, but he knows it’s going to pay off some day. Soon. If only he got to spend more time with people like Madison he would enjoy himself a lot more until then. Time seemed to slow a little while they were talking, and while he doesn’t remember the conversation in much detail he can recall the image of the other man perfectly- his hands moving in a slow but sure path to emphasize certain words, his thoughtful nods, his dark eyes never leaving Burr’s own.

“Are you thinking of Mom?”

Theodosia looks up at him with an unreadable expression, her features illuminated by the moon peaking through the window.

“Why are you asking?” he says and hopes the wave of guilt that suddenly rushes from his chest down to his stomach doesn’t show up on his face.

But Theo smiles. “Because you have the same look on your face you got when you used to look at her.”

What level of perception for a twelve-year-old, he thinks. Almost unnatural. But then she’s gotten more quiet since Theodosia died- talks less, watches people instead. And pierces them through the heart with her observations, like him just now.  
What is he doing? Why is he thinking about someone this way when his wife’s presence still lingers in every single room of their home?

And again his daughter surprises him when she tells him something else, whispering even though the nanny is sleeping soundly in another room and there’s no one but him to hear:  
“I want… I want you to be happy, Dad. Mom wants it too.”  
He doesn’t answer anything for a while, just strokes her cheek with his thumb and fights the urge to pull her into a hug and hold her for several days, or maybe a year, until he knows what to say to her, until everything hurts a little less.

“Alright, will you go to bed now, sweetie?” is the only thing he’s finally able to manage. Theo gets him to carry her back to her room, slinging her arms around his neck and legs around his waist like when she was six or seven. He places a kiss on her forehead before closing the door and heading to his room with the king size bed he doesn’t share with anyone anymore.

#

They not only get to see each other again, Jefferson makes them work together more closely than anyone else. “I think you were made for each other,” he jokes one afternoon and Madison smiles tiredly at his exaggerated wink.  
His best friend is right in a way; they are a good team. Burr with his infallible planning and coordination, always adapting his strategy to new developments and laying it out for Madison who brings that strategy to life through words- succinct, persuasive and yet poetic enough to imprint listeners with a lasting impression of the presidential candidate.

But then, Madison thinks sometimes, how can you be meant for someone when it’s such a double-edged sword?  
He enjoys working with Burr, he really does- it feels natural, as if his mind just expands on its own to accommodate new ideas that still seem familiar. But it leaves him eternally craving more. He needs to hold on to the feeling, to the person who gives that feeling to him. His connection to Burr is a string made of _almost there’_ s and _what could be’_ s. He desperately wants to wind that string around his hand and pull Burr closer until there’s not an inch left between them. Another time he wants to sever the thread, cut it so it can’t tie him down anymore, and run.

He never does either.

#

Burr never accidentally enters the café Madison spends his breaks in even though he’s passed by countless times on the way to the bake shop he likes to frequent.

He never asks to meet him somewhere else than the office when they come in after hours to work on something urgent.

It’s not even Theodosia anymore who keeps him from acting on the ache in his chest every time Madison smiles at him. It’s the thought that Madison would stop smiling if he knew that Burr is a widower with a child and an empty suburban home. He’s almost forty years old and his life is set in stone, even if a good chunk of it has broken off not long ago.  
But this- whatever it is- will pass. Maybe they’ll get to work on Jefferson’s inauguration speech together, or maybe just a statement congratulating his opponent for winning the election. But their time together will be over then- and Burr would rather wait for a safer opportunity in the future than leap for a chance with this colleague of his and face the consequences when their paths diverge again.

#

“It’s a tragedy,” Madison says and takes a gulp from the bottle Thomas passes to him. Outside the window of his friend’s apartment (probably the future president’s apartment. But who’s going to live here if Thomas moves to the White House?) the lights of the city glimmer and blink in random intervals. He hasn’t been at Thomas’ place for ages- but then this is also the first night off they get in what feels like forever. What better way to spend it than get drunk at home.

“What’s a tra- tragedy?” Thomas asks, his speech already pretty slurry.

Warmth slowly spreads from Madison’s chest to the rest of his body, lazily pulsing in his fingertips and the back of his head. It’s a very different feeling than the bubbling of champagne in his stomach when they first met. Everything is… heavier.

He turns his head towards Thomas and mumbles: “The way people always meet at the wrong time... it’s kind of sad. And other people get the right moment, but not enough time afterwards.”  
He stares out the window again to see if he can make out Burr’s house somewhere in the distance. The other man has never talked about it but Madison knows from others that his wife has died pretty recently.

It’s not right, but he can’t control his wishful thinking. Burr is probably still in mourning and here he is, wanting to take him away and all for himself.

“True, that’s true…”

Thomas scrambles to find a more comfortable position on the huge leather couch and ends up draping his long legs over Madison’s. He doesn’t mind.  
The alcohol is making his head swim and his friend’s regular breathing isn’t helping him to stay awake but he fights it, focusing his eyes on the silent image of the world outside the window. Burr is somewhere out there.

Somewhere.

Someday…

Maybe the right time is something you make for yourself, he thinks before sleep takes him. Oh, maybe it hurts only a little much to try.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this is so sad and hopeless?? also the writing style is kind of cold...  
> I had fun exploring this pairing that was totally new to me, i hope their dynamic was believable.
> 
> tell me what you think of it '':) 
> 
> btw the last sentence installed a loop of "try" by pink in my head that i still haven't gotten rid of... i would have named this fic "try" if i hadn't come up with an even cheesier title.


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